


Bahusian lore

by melangerubin



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original work - Freeform, Other, own setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25218586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melangerubin/pseuds/melangerubin
Summary: Bits and pieces of lore for Bahusia.





	Bahusian lore

The thick rain smattered down on her like nails being pounded into a coffin. She held her pipe under the wide brim of her hat and tried to light her seabaccy. Guard duty was rarely fun, but if you had a partner with you, it could be tolerable. She didn't. The rain kept battering down onto the cobblestone alleyways and tiled roofs.

A quiet curse was mumbled as she tried lighting her pipe again. There weren't a lot of folks out and about, mostly people who were going to and from work, some selkie kids running up and down their street, kicking and tossing a ball between them. The troll leaned her head forward and let some rain of her hat. She heard bouncing and saw that the ball was moving slowly over the cobblestone towards her. The kids stood a few meters away, trying to build up enough courage to approach her and ask for the ball. She picked it up, bounced it a few times on her bootclad foot and grinned toward the kids, smoke billowing out of her pipe.  
“Hey, kids. Go far.” she said, her foot connecting with the ball and sent it rocketing down the street. The kids wooped and yelled with joy and ran after it, their nervousness immediately forgotten. She chuckled to herself and began meandering towards the Iron Square, when she began hearing a soft bell out from the harbor. She stopped dead in her tracks. Then a second one, this one thicker in it's sound. And then a third, a fourth, a fifth, and so it went on until the entire air was filled with the cacophony of ship bells. It was as if a score and f ships had tried entire the dock at the same time, but she knew what she'd see when she came down to the dock. There would be one ship, and one ship alone who could sound like that. The Bellbreaker.

\- - -

The skies hung over the low wooden houses, seemingly about to split asunder any moment. It had been a week of warm and heavy weather, so everyone braced for thunder. Even the flies were too tired to buzz around and annoy you, instead opting to drop like flies. It came naturally to them.  
A ramshackle wagon rumbled down a cobblestone road, scenting the air heavy and thick with the aroma of bygone herring.

From the dock you could hear the gentle hustle of ships being loaded and unloaded, cargo from far away places with long names put unto carriages. The thrashing of a very confused crocodile and the cawing of crows. Gutter french mingled with malay and gentle german. A laugh was shared over a cobbled together joke about one of the captains.

On the Iron Square revellers began pooling down the second long street as night began to cool down the town, with sporadic castings of water above the crowd to cool them down. The Head Waiter and Rolf The Rough could be heard lamenting and caroling their way up and down, looking for a gentle soul with too much coin in their pocket and a soft spot for vagabonds.  
Up the Mast Clearing the road went, circling wooden hovels and a selkie sailor playing the accordion and singing for her cousins, regaling them the tale of the two giants of Noreg.

The rain came, and soon after the thunder roared and split the sky. The downpour was fast and heavy and drummed against tin roof and tatch alike. A joyous laughter bubbled up from the town, a long awaited friend had finally arrived.  
\- - -  
An Outsider’s Guide To The Fishmongers Guild

Located in Götheborg, the ancient Bahusian Fishmongers guild is an odd mix between fisherman’s guild, merchant house, mercenary company, and religious order. While not actively secretive, outsiders usually find it hard to get anything out of their members. For the purpose of this text, I’ll just call the organization “the Guild”, and specify where needed.

The first recorded statement regarding the Guild comes from around 1308, when a fortress was named Bohus fästning, Bohus being derived from the Old Norse word, Baihus, for grand or magnificent. It still remains, having been besieged but never taken at least ten different times. The Guild began as a minor merchant house, trading mainly fish and lumber, but soon became a mercenary company, hiring long boats to defend the North Sea. After many major victories, against human and sea monster alike, they claimed divine rights to fishing in the North Sea, and became known, jokingly, as the Fishmongers. Jokes stopped after they showed their belief through swift military retribution to anyone who dared to fish in their waters.

A brief history of Bahusia

A landscape shaped by ancient glaciers, eons of waves crashing against granite, and bountiful schools of fish has made Bahusia not only a land most beautiful, but a strategically important position. Located on the west coast of Svea, they stand apart from the people just a few miles east of them. As previously mentioned, the building of the fortress enabled the founding of the Guild, and remains the seat of their governmental power, though they have a religious seat of power in both Koster and Götheborg, and nearly all commerce is done in Götheborg, in the Fishmongers Cathedral. The Cathedral is a place for selling and buying, an act which the Guild sees as religiously important. The Koster islands is the place for clerics and mages to practice and learn their different crafts.

Having been owned by all three Scandinavian countries, they have managed the impossible and formed a, for lack of better words, own country. On land they border Svea and Noreg, and by sea they border Danerikke, and have access to the British Isles. Because of their quite long policy of near isolationism and aggressive border control, the Guild has had little involvement, beside mercenary work, in the Scandinavian wars. The Guild sell fishing licenses to the other governments to bring in a steady flow of money, and they control who sails in their waters. According to themselves, this has minimized the conflict between countries.  
In recent years, there has been a push for more open border treaties, or at least an softening of them. The public remains mostly uninterested, but seem welcome to the idea.

The pearl of the West

Travelers from near and far gather in Götheborg, a city built on commerce and the flow of products. No matter who you are, it seems, Götheborg welcomes you. It’s not uncommon to see traders from the far reaches of the British empire mingle with merchants from the Middle East, and all get along. After all, they all speak the language of trading, and seeing how the Guild will usually turn a blind eye to smuggling and the black market, it works out in the end.  
In Götheborg, you’ll find whatever you are searching for, whether it is rare items, knowledge, or mercenaries. The Bahusian people is made from selkies, trolls, and humans. It is said that nearly everyone is a bit of everything in Bahusia, and looking at their people, it’s certainly true. Tall grey humans with seal black eyes, rotund selkies with granite teeth, trolls with seaweed growing out of their hair.

Bahusian Culture

Bahusians usually venerate artisans and their crafts highly, thinking each piece as a minor deity. A fishing boat is revered as a lifebringer, each net and hook thought of as protective spirits.  
Their fashion is practical and reflect their lifestyle, the fabrics are rough and waterproofed, even their Sunday finest. Common materials are processed seaweed and wool, providing sturdy clothes that endure the cold nights. Styles may vary, but the bigger the city, the more outside influences there are. There are, of course, outside influences outside of the cities, but these normally tend to be less extravagant.  
Another common sight are clan tattoos. These originated within the Selkie community, but over the centuries and marriage and friendships between races, they are now seen on nearly everyone. Part identification, part history lesson, these tattoos tell stories of not only the wearer, but their ancestors and chosen family. It is considered a honor of the highest degree to be included in a tattoo.

Gods, heretics and the persecuted

The Bahusian attitude toward other people’s religion is very easily summed up as “All right then”, an attitude that in general runs deep among the people of Bahus. In Götheborg you can be sure to find houses of prayer to your deities, as traders from nearly the entire world have been there and brought their own gods.  
Even shrines to those gods whose followers are looked down up can be found, and northern Bahusia has a strong Dagonistic following, but in recent years it has been reformed and moved away from its darker roots.  
This attitude has led to many suffering under persecution to seek asylum in Bahusia as they’ve softened their isolationism in recent years.

The Witching Isles of Koster

The Isles of Koster lies in the north, near the border to Noreg. Their buildings are made, as is traditional outside of Götheborg, of wood and rock. Few houses are higher than one story, (excluding lofts), but the lighthouses are the true reason why people travel there. They house the magic academies of Bahusia, and most students are either brought there at an very early age or are born into the academies. While your humble author hasn't yet been there, due to some legal matters, I assure you that my sources are as trustworthy as me. The academies focus on weather magic and the witches often row into storms to calm them, or to agitate them into hurricane and tempests.

Mercenary Work and You! A Handy Guide To Bahusian Contracts.  
More to come, dear reader!

\- - -

The crossbow felt heavy inside his coat, the rain beating down on his back. It slammed down over roofs and cobblestone roads alike, as he walked down the street. He just needed to do this job for Large Harry, and then he’d be debt free. It was dirty but he much preferred having blood on his hands than a slashed face.

He didn’t ask who or why, that was a sure fire way of getting drowned in the channel. He took short shallow breaths, scurrying between dry spots under the roofs. He struck his match against the stone and lit his pipe, hoping to calm his nerves.

He rested his hand on the door handle, wondering if he could get the money somewhere else, maybe he could sign on to a ship, travel to parts unknown, or do a smuggle run to Noreg. He shook his head, such flights of fancy weren’t any use now. Large Harry probably had a man following him. He took a deep breath, steadied the crossbow in his other hand as he slammed the door open.

To everyone but him, it had been an obvious set up. He took the fall, Large Harry removed an enemy boss. He went to jail, the court was over in less than fifteen minutes. He was shipped off to the Vinga prison. He got a cell overlooking the vast and endless sea. He buried his head in his hands and wept. As the year passed into a new one, he began to stare out the cell window. His cell mates began complaining about him, how he just stood there, looking. They got transferred, as he had gotten violent when they tried to remove him. Another year passed, and he began hear a faint whisper on the edge of his hearing. He wept, as a deep terror began to gnaw at his bones.

The rumors of the inmate in cell 467 began to spin. He was a crazed assassin that tried to murder several high ranking officials, sometimes he was the prodigal son of a fallen house. They were fanciful, as there was little to do on that godsforsaken rock. The years passed and he gently sang under his breath, promises of revenge and retribution on those who had wronged him. The whisper grew louder and louder, finally ending in a loud roar like that of the sea. He smiled as he was led to the boat back to shore, and the faint smile never faltered as he walked ashore, mind full of dreadful things for his enemies. The jailers shivered as he walked past them, the air smelling of salt and death.

\- - - 

_ The following is an open letter sent from the Technical University to all major newspapers in Bahusia  _

To whom it may concern;

Have you, as we, noticed that the problem with housing is thusly, there is not enough?

Have You considered to consult the higher arts, of mathemagic and practical geometry?? 

The Chalmer Technical University invites You, the Good Public, to witness A Solution…. of public Good and the craft of mathemagical cunning.

_ The day came.  _

The public, being the public and thus doing what they felt like, had shown up with hampers, booze and instruments.

They sat down, awaiting some pale accountant from the university to pipe up when it was getting good.

There was a giant cube covered by an even bigger cloth. A child pointed and said, “I - I- I- uhm.. uh.. I think there’s a house underneath..” before sitting down and continued to eat her sandwich. Her fathers shrugged and assured her that it was probably a house under it.

Midday passed to early evening, much like a clock going from twelve to four. It was a hot summer’s eve and the public was in a good mood. However, no public can wait when there’s an obvious surprise taunting them with their unreveal.

It’s still unclear who pulled off the fabric to reveal the house, but at quarter past five it was. The house was grand, newly built and empty. It followed the bahusian principle of having the ground floor in stone and the next two floors wooden boards. On the entrance sat instructions nailed to the door.

To Gain Acess

Turn left until there’s a new door

Intrigued, some started walking. After a few minutes, when they quite reasonably should’ve come back, the rest followed. As the walked along the house, they did find themselves at the entrance again. Only, this time there was light from inside the house, and the clattering of forks. Spurred on by the promise of a party, because who would turn down a party, they entered. Much as they had expected, the pasty accountants of the University stood there, beaming with pride. They tried to explain how they had managed to make overlapping houses by folding space until it did what they wanted it to. The public nodded, because that was the polite thing to do.

A cry of anguish could be heard, and the crier turned out to be the postmaster. “How many houses? How many?” He asked.


End file.
